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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977132">the sickly mishaps of miya atsumu</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, HQ Manga Timeskip, House Cleaning, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals - Freeform, Volleyball, germaphobe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:49:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,739</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Miya Atsumu isn’t the best at taking care of people and that has always been given.</p>
  <p>So, when MSBY Black Jackals’s wing spiker, Hinata Shōyō, came back to their shared apartment, sneezing and red-nosed, it didn’t occur to Atsumu that Hinata might be sick.</p>
</blockquote>Nor does he expect Sakusa Kiyoomi to barge in their apartment, all set to disinfect the virus of Hinata’s flu.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>325</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the sickly mishaps of miya atsumu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miya Atsumu isn’t the best at taking care of people and that has always been given. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, when MSBY Black Jackals’s wing spiker, Hinata Shōyō, came back to their shared apartment, sneezing and red-nosed, it didn’t occur to Atsumu that Hinata might be sick. Instead, he did the stupidest thing and dragged Hinata to the local bar — which didn’t end well, to say the least. (Hinata has the weakest alcohol tolerance Atsumu encountered.) </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He first called his brother. After a ten minute lecture for Atsumu’s daft logic (“<em>Even a ten year old would’a thought better than ya, ‘Sumu!</em>”), Osamu instructed his brother to cook soup for Hinata and buy a lot of liquids for hydration; no need for medicine unless he has a fever. Atsumu obliged and even shut his mouth from saying anything saucy. Looking back, he <em>is</em> partly at fault. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Three days has passed since Hinata caught the flu. Training begins again two days from now and it’ll be hell to have Hinata sniffling and Sakusa bitching about him spreading germs. Much to their relief, Hinata has been sneezing less and even gained back his apetite to eat Atsumu’s <em>edible</em> <em>okayū</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From the their kitchenette, Atsumu overhears a bit of Hinata’s conversation with Kageyama Tobio. The setter averts his attention to the noodles he cooks for both him and Hinata. Honestly, he doesn’t even know if what he’s doing is enough to make Hinata feel better, but he <em>tries</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…’Sumu’s been taking care of me…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s good, Shōyō…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu smiles at the two lovebirds. <em>Ain’t it nice to have someone to talk to me like that? </em>he thinks as he pours the noodles out of the pot and into the strainer. <em>Well, there’s Omi-Omi</em>… </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Right. Sakusa Kiyoomi, the germaphobe that Atsumu is <em>vaguely</em> dating. Other than wanting to use the Clorox infused spray on Atsumu, they rarely talk about their relationship or <em>act</em> like a couple — not that the latter party minds. Though most of the time, Atsumu longs to earn the privilege of holding Sakusa’s hand — with or without gloves. Hell, he can’t even get a high-five. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Underneath the clutter of the kitchen sink, Atsumu’s phone vibrates and catches him by surprise. Hot water splashes on his leg, making him yelp in pain. The door to Hinata’s room slowly opens and a mop of orange-hair pops out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay, Miya-<em>san</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ha?” Atsumu turns his head and offers Hinata a grin despite his awkward position by the sink. “I’m okay, Hinata. Ya hungry yet?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The spiker sniffles and vigorously rubs his nose. “No… Not really. Maybe I’ll sleep after I call Tobio. Gotta get more rest before training starts!” he cheerily replies. Even at such a dismal time, Hinata Shōyō still beams like a sunshine. “Thanks for taking care of me, Miya-<em>san</em>.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu chuckles and waves his hand. “I told ya, Atsumu’s fine. Besides,” he winks at Hinata, “I gotta take care of ya for Tobio. Ain’t that right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hinata weakly smiles in reply and returns to his room, the door clicking close behind him. Atsumu, still wincing in pain, rummages through the empty instant ramen wrappers in search of his phone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aha!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu’s brows knit together — in surprise and confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>&lt; </em> <b> <em>Omi-Omi &lt;3 </em> </b> <em>(10:38AM): I heard Hinata’s sick. Is he feeling better? &gt; </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>That’s new</em>, he thinks. Sakusa’s a simple person: If he needs to talk to someone directly, he will — straight to the point like he always is. He could’ve sent the message to Hinata himself rather than Atsumu. And yet… </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>&lt; </em> <b> <em>Atsumu </em> </b> <em>(10:40AM): Somehow??? IDK if I’m doing a good job at taking care of him :( &gt; </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After Atsumu sends the message, its sender leaves it on read. This dampens Atsumu’s mood. Although Hinata (thankfully) only has the case of the colds, it’s been rough on Atsumu’s non-maternal trait for the past three days. He’s been restless; he wants to go back to training and try out the new serve he encountered online. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite Atsumu’s fidgeting and Hinata’s assurance that he can fare for himself, the former doesn’t want to leave the sickly setter to <em>die</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miya Atsumu really could use some help. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blinks down at his phone as it plays “Chlorine” by Twenty One Pilots. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&lt; <em>Caller: </em><b><em>Omi-Omi &lt;3 </em></b><em>&gt;</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa Kiyoomi is actually <em>calling</em> Atsumu, rather than the other way around. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He answers the call after a few moments, a bit excited for his irritable (but endearing) boyfriend. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Took you long enough to answer,</em>” Sakusa says, though his words are muffled. In the background, Atsumu hears the hushed chatter of the streets. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are ya out side, Omi-Omi?” he asks and wanders across the room and to the window of the apartment. It isn’t as though he’d see Sakusa, grimacing at him, from below. He looks down, anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Yes</em>.” The caller huffs in agitation. “<em>I figured that Hinata might need someone of better care-taking skill than you.</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oi! I’m tryin’ here, Omi-kun!” Atsumu sighs dramatically. “Bokuto would do better than ya, Omi-kun. Ya can’t even stand being a good foot from yer boyfriend…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only the faint beeping of the streetlight fills the silence from Sakusa’s line. “Bokuto will be the death of Hinata-<em>kun</em>,” Sakusa finally remarks. “Anyway, I’ll see you in a few minutes. You know what to do.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The call ends. Atsumu stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants and heads for the small cupboard near the door. He <em>does</em> know what to do: Disinfect himself until his skin burned and as much as possible, every surface Sakusa lays a finger on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their relationship is akin to a mother and child: Sakusa nags Atsumu to soap his hands for <em>exactly </em>twenty seconds and rinse them for ten; to always carry rubbing alcohol and disinfecting wipes with him wherever he goes. At first, it disgruntled Atsumu because who the hell even counts while washing their hands?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, he does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The setter opens the cupboard and he knows that he is <em>fucked</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s been preoccupied with nursing Hinata back to health that he didn’t notice that most of his disinfecting/cleaning supplies are empty. Not to mention, when is the last time they did the laundry? Last Thursday? Last week? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu concludes that he will definitely lose to his brother when it comes to domesticity. He will also lose his head once Sakusa arrives at their apartment, which isn’t very long from now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Damn it all,” he mumbles. Stressed, Atsumu runs his fingers through his hair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Being in a relationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi has proven to be a bit of a <em>challenge </em>to Miya Atsumu. And it doesn’t only end with Sakusa’s lifelong dread for infectious microorganisms. More often than not, he struggles to read Sakusa’s expressions and actions compared to his other teammates, like Bokuto and Hinata. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Miya Atsumu has a thick skull. He won’t give up so easily. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>What will Omi-Omi say…?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just when Atsumu’s about to lose his wits and starts rolling on the floor, the doorbell rings only once. His hand hovers over the doorknob, sparing a horrified glance at the state of their apartment. Food wrappers overflow the trashcan; the dishes from last night are still unwashed; the sheets on the sofa is strewn across the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Ain’t turning back now</em>, he thinks sullenly and slowly opens the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even if the mask covers half of his face, Atsumu notes how Sakusa’s eyes subtly brighten upon seeing him — though he still tries to block the mess of an apartment behind him. In each hand, Sakusa carries a bag: one with drinks and healthier snacks that will last them a week; the other with cleaning supplies. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Omi, I—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grimaces not at the presence of his boyfriend but at one hell of a mess behind him. “Excuse me,” he mutters and Atsumu moves a good foot away from Sakusa. Atsumu watches him from where he stands, not daring to move any closer. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bags are slowly set down near the bathroom door, away from the kitchen and living room. Sakusa examines the room and with a shake of his head, proceeds to knock on Hinata’s door. No answer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Atsumu is utterly confused. On a normal day, Sakusa’s form of welcome is threatening the poor setter with his spray bottle, pointing at his face. But not like this: Sakusa quietly entered the room without mocking Atsumu’s lack of hygiene. (Though he doesn’t <em>stink</em>. Just fails to meet Sakusa Kiyoomi’s standards.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Omi, I haven’t… y’know… cleaned the apartment?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa glances at him and simply replies a grunt. “I know.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are ya gonna do me a good deed today, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu teases, trying to uplift the mood. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A small bottle of Clorox is thrown his way and he catches it by surprise. “Yeah, I am.” Sakusa, now armed with gloves, holds up Atsumu’s boxer shorts in disgust.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! There they are,” Atsumu exclaims. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sakusa directly throws Atsumu’s boxers on his face before he gets anywhere near him. “Also, I think you haven’t changed your sheets for a month,” he mutters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A month,” the other repeats. <em>No wonder why I kept in itchin’ in that damn sofa</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two begin to tidy up the apartment. Only the sound of the vacuum wakes Hinata to say hello to their guest and back into the room he goes, knowing that it’ll repulse Sakusa to be near the germ-carrier. Dirty sheets are tossed into the hamper; dishes are washed and are drying in the dishwasher; the trash has been sorted and thrown into the chute down the hall. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I ain’t doin’ this again, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu whines. He leans over the bathtub with a brush in hand and scrubs vigorously. “It’s hurtin’ my wrists!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you better scrub it properly, idiot,” comes the blunt reply of Sakusa. He’s by the kitchenette, clearing the cupboards of unhealthy snacks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Though Sakusa’s tone is impatient, Atsumu doesn’t need to see the smile underneath his boyfriend’s mask. He <em>knows</em> but says nothing about it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Besides, Miya Atsumu doesn’t need to worry about making Sakusa Kiyoomi stay with him for the rest of the day, now they’re both stuck cleaning every corner and crevice of the apartment. You know, just your MSBY Black Jackals doing their regular cleaning. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A thought pops in Atsumu’s mind: What about proposing to Sakusa along the grocery’s cleaning aisle? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>That ain’t a bad idea</em>, he thinks with a soft chuckle. <em>If Omi-Omi ain’t dousin’ me with bleach first before I kneel on one knee</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I live for SakuAtsu. What about it?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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